


The Musical Equation

by Eye_Of_Argonia



Category: Seraphina - Rachel Hartman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_Of_Argonia/pseuds/Eye_Of_Argonia





	The Musical Equation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimblermortal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimblermortal/gifts).



It was, by all appearances, yet another usual night in the watering hole for the members of the conservatorium. Seraphina was not usually inclined to participate in them, but this was one of thankfully few occasions when it was too difficult to find a plausible excuse. She fidgeted, praying that her father won't scold her, wondering what would be the minimal polite period necessary to spend in the tavern, and hoping that no one will notice she was still nursing the first beer they handed her.

She glanced at the reason for her discomfort: the new horn player, who came all the way from Ninys. He was not a particularly physically remarkable fellow; but as the alcohol took its effect, he got louder and louder. His choice of subject stood out as well; while dragons were far from beloved in Lavondaville, most citizens of the capital erred on the side of caution in public, particularly in places where mixed company was allowed - and the tavern they were sitting in was one of such. He would most likely learn better soon enough, but for now, his words ran free.

“I hope we’re not called to perform for one of those beasts anytime soon. It’s not like they could even understand music. How could they, when they have no soul?”

Despite the overall level of inebriation, other members of the group began to feel uneasy. Guntard faked a laugh, clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Enough about _them_ , how about Magda over there?” He indicated the busty barmaid with his chin.

Seraphina was used to tuning out the anti-dragon rants, but this one gave her a pause. She was quite sure she had dragons figured out better than a significant part of population of her country. One thing, however, continued to elude her. She dared not ask, however; the subject caused her father pain, and she still wasn’t quite at ease with her uncle. It was the very question the new horn player posed tonight: why are the dragons interested in something so emotional? She could understand her mother – an aberration, obviously – but why would her uncle, with all his self-control, be so fascinated with it? Why would the others, without hiding it or penalising it?

The question kept haunting her throughout the next day, filled with curses and nursing of hangovers by last night's over-indulgent, into the evening meeting with her uncle.

Still, she dared not ask.

It was Orma that broached the subject.

“My research into human behaviour so far shows that the squirming you are exhibiting right now indicates discomfort; and the way you are looking at me, I believe, shows that I'm somehow related to it.”

Seraphina bit her lip.

Orma continued. “If I can address it, I will. If I can’t, I won’t, and will feel little remorse for it. You seem to forget I’m not prone to having emotional reactions over trivial matters. Go ahead.”

“You practise music.”

“Yes.”

“Many other dragons seem to appreciate it.”

“Yes.”

“Why? It’s…emotional.”

“For you, perhaps.”

“It isn't for you?”

“Do you play the way your emotions dictate, with no rules taken into consideration? Does your organist smash keys in anger? Do you sob into your flute?”

“No, but…”

“What’s the backbone of the composition?”

“Rhythm.”

“What is it made of?”

“Beats.”

"Which are organised into..."

"Bars."

Orma was looking at her, expectantly.

Seraphina frowned.

Orma sighed. “How do you divide beats into bars?”

“I...oh.” She thought of time signatures, of divisions and additions to notes.

“Yes. And it’s not just the rhythm. The force with which you perform creates the pitch. The difference between notes is reflected in ratio of their frequencies. And then there are patterns. You could write lines and lines of equations for each of the pieces you perform. Well, you could if you ever showed an interest in furthering your education in mathematics and physics.”

Orma managed to convey disapproval without grimacing or changing his voice. Seraphina thought it was another enviable draconic trait.

She frowned. "Equations?”

“Yes. Why do you say it as if though they are distasteful?”

"Because...I don't know."

"They are not 'art' to you?"

"No. Sorry."

"What to you see when you play?"

"I see...images."

Orma sighed. "Your mother said that, as well. Most of the dragons, though, stay focused on the technique. Perhaps this is what makes it impossible for most of us to reach the levels of performance skills trained humans have. I have yet to find a way to overcome it. Could you elaborate? Do you see specific shapes, like triangles, or...?"

"No, more vague and abstract, like clouds, one flowing into another as I modulate the melody. Not only visual - emotions often accompany them, as well as smells, sometimes other associations." 

"Ah." Orma paused. "Well, as you can see, we experience it quite differently. But we still hold our interpretation dear. Such complex structures! On several levels: the melody, the construction of the instrument, the technique of playing, the acoustics of the place it's performed in, each terribly intricate yet precise. And despite that, they are easily brought from paper into reality, to create something more than the sum of its parts, with few physical or monetary limits on the production - beyond the initial cost of the instrument, of course - unlike machinery or architecture. Of course, other forms of 'art" aren't that dissimilar. I'm quite sure your education has covered the golden ratio, at least. But let's not overload your mind. Were you able to understand anything of my point of view?"

"I think so."

 _It's sad, but it fits you_ is the part she doesn't say aloud.

"It's good enough for tonight, I suppose," said Orma.

They never spoke of it again until his departure.

* * *

 

A year since then, she's watching Abdo practising. He's a whirlwind: chaotic at the first glance, yet following a set course. She wouldn't have noticed Lars sitting on the crates near her if his chalk hadn't slipped from his grip and rolled next to her.

She glances over at him. He seems to be working on a new equation.

"It's quite fascinating, this pattern." He taps the initial line. "I think that I can incorporate it in my new construction. Maybe. If it works at all."

"New construction?"

"Maybe." He scratches his head. "I think I could make something to make our trip faster, without horses or water. But I'm not certain. It would take a lot of energy."

"And you just came up with it now?"

"No." He gestures to Abdo. "He did."

"I didn't know Abdo was also proficient in engineering."

Lars smiles. "Not that I know of."

"Then...how?"

Lars gestures to the still-dancing Abdo.

Seraphina frowns.

Lars scratches his head again. "It sounds silly, I know. But...it's there. For me, at least. You know you can express rhythm in numbers, right? Oh, of course you do. I'm sorry." He blushes and looks down.

"Ah," says Seraphina, finally understanding.

She looks at still-dancing Abdo and glimpses the patterns, the fractions, the math of it.


End file.
